


Jon Snow Wants to Marry Sansa

by DottyDot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Began it with the best of intentions, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Post S8, ended it in madness and stupidity (of the fluffiest kind), jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:45:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: Everyone wants Jon to marry Sansa. Jon wants to marry Sansa. He just isn't moving fast enough. Everyone decides to force the issue in their own delightful way.





	Jon Snow Wants to Marry Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> My take on Jon and Sansa getting together if it were a romcom of the absurdist variety.

There was something terrifying about Lady Mormont. She may have been small, but it never occurred to call her cute, or sweet, or pretty. If looks could kill, half the Lords of the North would be summarily disembowed. Even without her ferocity taking immediate effect, being under her gaze did feel something like taking a freezing walk beyond The Wall.  
  
Somehow, there was a slight thawing of her looks when it came to Sansa, his s--cousin. The Lady of Bear Island owed and gave no immediate respect to anyone, but Sansa had earned admiration from all the Lords and Ladies, including the little bear, and Jon found himself frequently paying attention to how the she-cub watched his--cousin.

They had won, at great price. He had stayed at Winterfell, his aunt dead, the Iron Throne destroyed. Both had brought death, he could not regret that neither survived the war. The Seven Kingdoms became seven, autonomous kingdoms again, and he came home, to his cousins.

Arya was often away, too restless to stay anywhere for long, but she would return. She promised. Bran was gone, lost to his calling beyond The Wall. Winterfell had been burned, there was little food. Nearly all had been lost, but not quite all. He had her every day, sitting next to him, ruling with him. At night it was just him and the darkness, but every morning Sansa came to him with a smile and the sun.

She sat by him now at the high table as was their norm, and Davos cleared his throat, "Your grace, I know it is soon, too soon for Lady Stark to be thinking on such matters, but with your decision to destroy the Iron Throne, it would be advantageous to form alliances."

Jon made no answer.

"Through marriage" Davos clarified. "I would not suggest it if---"

"---If it weren't necessary. I understand" interrupted Sansa, calmly, as if she had known what was required of her. But then, she had always known. Jon shook his head. Family, duty, honor. No one lived by that more than Sansa. Of course she would accept yet another arranged marriage. Too late for his silence to go unnoticed Jon came to himself. "We will speak of this later."

Davos held up several scrolls. "We have many offers for Lady Stark."

"Later" said Jon, not looking at Sansa, his eyes upon a splinter that was coming free of the table near his thumb. He began to worry it. "That is enough for now" he said, ending their council.

He could feel that ferocious gaze on him and unwillingly dragged his eyes to Lady Mormont's face. Instead of the angry fire he expected, he met ice in those dark eyes. Ah, she was clearly contemplating whether kings were worth the trouble, lovely.

The others were leaving, muttering amongst themselves. Sansa touched his arm, "Are you well, Jon?"

He croaked out an affirmative, tried to smile at her, and sunk a little lower into his chair as he felt her fingers drift away. He did not allow his eyes to follow as he knew Mormont would know. Then he realized, she did know. She came toward him, her men already sent from the room, leaving them alone.

Fighting the undead bear wasn't as frightening, Cersei wasn't as unnerving, honestly, the Night King really wasn't all that bad compared to this ferocious lady. He kept his head raised and met her eyes although he felt like he was shrinking smaller and smaller with every step she took toward him.

"You are pathetic."

Pathetic wasn't disgusting, he perked up a little.

"The hero of the Great War and you behave like a coward. Too afraid of rejection to protect your cousin."

That was too much from the she-bear. "I have only ever protected Sansa"

"When were you so busy protecting her? After she was spirited out of King's Landing? When Lord Baelish had her in the Vale? When Theon rescued her from Ramsey? When her sister rescued her and Winterfell from Baelish?"

"Aye, I was not able to rescue her from that, but I made a vow to her when she found me at The Wall---"

"Brave brother of the Night's watch, forsaking one vow to make another only to retract it when it grows a little too difficult."

"I broke no oath---"

"Where will _we_ go."

"She told you that?"

"Someone had to speak with her and keep her sane while you were away, courting death and the foreign--"

Jon leapt to his feet, his chair hitting the floor, his fists meeting the table, "No! Do not finish that thought. I did what was necessary."

Mormont eyed him, momentarily appeased by that sign of life. "You are a king. Stop moping, stop waiting, stop making Sansa clean up your messes and fix your own problem."

Mormont left, leaving him with one last look of utter disdain. Still, disdain was not disgust, Jon was appalled that somehow that gave him something like hope. Perhaps he should go speak to Sansa.

Davos was waiting for him in the hall. "I did not mean to distress Lady Stark, but it is a difficult business, holding houses away from each other's throats. You would think that barely having finished one war they would be happy to enjoy a moment's peace before launching into the next."

"I understand" said Jon, listening but not stopping.

"I have offers for you as well, your grace, perhaps you would--"

"Consign them to the fire. I will think on the matter."

Davos did as he was ordered, reluctantly.

Jon went to see Sansa, but Brienne was faithful, too faithful, to her mistress, and leveled a gaze at him that clearly indicated he had misjudged her tolerance for his existence. "I need to see her" he said, gruffly, wondering why becoming a king seemed to do little to garner respect from the ladies his cousin chose to surround herself with.

"And she needs to rest. It has been a difficult day."

"I only need to see her for a moment. If she knew I was asking, she would let me in."

"I am pleased to hear that you have absolute confidence in her. Not everyone is so fortunate to have someone they can trust."

"Lady Brienne, I--"

The door opened, "Come in Jon" said Sansa, quietly, sweetly. Jon felt ill that she would treat him so when he felt he had failed her, but he entered, closing the door behind him, trying to ignore Brienne who appeared to have learned something about death glares from Lady Mormont.

"An arranged marriage, Jon? After everything?" Sansa spoke with her typical candor, not really bemoaning her fate, barely even reproachful. She sat back in her chair to continue some bit of sewing she always had on hand.

"I would never make you do anything you didn't wish to do." Jon assured her, sitting in another chair before her fire.

"I don't wish it. I don't expect I will ever marry again."

"I will not make you."

"Thank you."

Relieved at Sansa's calmness, her warmth, Jon began to relax. He enjoyed sitting before the fire in her room, listening to her talk while she sewed or letting the flames of the fire fill the room with their quiet song if they fell silent. Tonight they were silent, too weary of talk to endure anymore. Why did her ladies have to be so ferocious? Why couldn't they be nice like Sansa? His eyes closed as she sewed and occasionally she would forget herself and hum something. Her singing always seemed to fall into his chest more than land on his ears, and it warmed him more than the fire.

In these peaceful moments he was lost to his burdens, he forgot the past, he didn't worry about the future, he simply enjoyed the present, something he had never managed to do before. Maybe it was the war, growing old before his time, he could think of a hundred different reasons why this is what he wanted most now, but the truth was, he craved Sansa. The closeness to Sansa, the warm light on her face, the softness that came into her eyes when she looked at him when no one else could see. She seemed happiest when alone with him as well which made it all the more difficult to do anything other than wonder in disbelief at how this had come to be. He was afraid to speak and find it all a delusion, so he did not speak of what he should, and instead allowed himself this moment.

An hour later when he left, Tormund was in the hall pestering Brienne. He lived to make the lady knight laugh and so far had won a few smirks even with his most ridiculous stories. Seeing the King, Tormund raised an eyebrow "Squared it all away, King Snow? Made her happy? Did you make her very happy?" He proceeded to grin and waggle his eyebrows which made Brienne, who had seemed rather relaxed until the last comment, immediately snap at the man. "Remove yourself from this hall, Wildling, or I shall do it for you."

Tormund moved, followed by Jon, who could hear sputtering of "filth" and "idiots" and "men" cascading out of her mouth after them. _What was wrong with these women?_

Tormund was accustomed to abuse from Lady Brienne and laughed about it, delighted in it even. For a time she would not even acknowledge him, so the insults felt like validation that his efforts were working to thaw "my warrioress" as he called her whenever she could not hear him. He pulled Jon down to the fire in the Great Hall where they drank, how much Jon did not know, but there was a flurry of cups being filled and refilled as he listened to his friend's woes.

"You should, you know" said the giant ginger.

"Should what?"

"Do the thing you think of. You're a king. You can steal your s---."

"Cousin."

"Makes no difference to the free folk what you call her or what you do to her. Southerners have a right to their ways."

"You should stop talking now, Tormund."

"And you should stop brooding and do something, pretty boy."

Jon did do something. He drank more ale.

\-----

Three days later, Jon decided to take several men with him for a hunting trip. There was little game nearby, so they were to be gone for several days. He was _not_ running away from Lyanna Mormont's increasingly frequent scowls. He hadn't even noticed how Brienne had stopped looking at him altogether. He rather enjoyed Davos's subtle ritual of flinging open his solar door so hard it hit the wall and glaring at him as he threw each rejected marriage offer into the fire one by one. Jon really hadn't been disturbed by how often Tormund rolled his eyes every time he caught Jon looking at Sansa or purposefully _not_ looking at her. None of it was the least bit obnoxious. Life in a castle where everyone was wanting and waiting for him to do this one thing was not uncomfortable, he had no need to escape.

But, he did insist that Tormund stay behind, "to protect the women" Jon had muttered quietly, his efforts pointless when Tormund shouted his statement out and laughed until the sound filled the hall. And then Jon stopped lying to himself. He was absolutely, cowardly running away from them all. "I'll be back in a few days" he told Sansa, his hands on her cheeks before he realized it. He came to himself just in time and did _not_ kiss her, instead flung himself onto his horse and left as gracefully as he could, which is to say, not very.

Arya returned home while he was away, took one look at Sansa and sighed. Jon must have come back from the dead with only have his brains thawed. Maybe less.

Lyanna dragged Arya into the corner before she could even tease Sansa about their painfully, slow-moving cousin. Lyanna was only marginally less intimidating than herself which Arya admired greatly.

Lyanna, however, was seething, "I want to go home, but in order to take care of my people, I need to know that this issue is taken care of. What if he married some Southern brat and let's her have a say in things? What if Sansa gets tired of waiting, marries the wrong man, and he decides to assert her rights over Winterfell and contest Jon's authority? We didn't fight the dead and the dragon for Jon's scruples to ruin it all now. We need to handle this."

Arya agreed. She had no qualms with meddling.

\-----

Mormont caught Jon in the hall as soon as he returned. As in, grabbed him with all the ferocity her tiny person allowed, which turned out to be quite a lot. "Why haven't you done anything?"

"It's taken care of. I told Davos to reject all offers to myself, and I told Lady Stark I would not send her away."

Now for sure Mormont was disgusted by him. Her lip twisted as if he was an ugly mutt. No, a diseased, ugly mutt. No, something worse, a rabid, diseased angry mutt. No, he really didn't think she would bother to notice that. He alone could draw this much loathing from her. Her nostrils flared and her cheeks were the color of fury. "You _ignorant_ boy"

Davos who was several steps behind stepped forward to intervene and object. "He is your king and whatever your disagreement is, you owe him---"

"And what does he owe his cousin? He stands here expecting congratulations and thanks for not sending her to some southern suitor, and yet everyday he dangles the possibility over her head, threatening---"

"I would never threaten Sansa."

"You're her cousin and her king, if she thinks for one moment it is what you would have her do, if it would help you, she would resign herself to her fate."

"I am merely giving her the choice."

"Why are you making her do the work? _You're_ supposed to object! _You're_ supposed to say no. _You're_ supposed to give her a reason to stay. _You're_ supposed to make her happy!"

"I risked my life!"

"But you had Sam, your brothers of the Night's Watch, your Wilding lover, you had love while you were away, you had the Dragon Queen. Sansa had no one until she found you. And here you are happily talking about sending her away again. How would you feel if when the dragon queen summoned she had urged you to go? Suggested a marriage alliance?"

Jon would never shout down the young bear so Davos interrupted, "You have said quite enough, my lady. Good day."

Jon muttered under his breath as he strode away. "They presume to lecture me. I have risked my life, I protected the north, I died--"

"And she wanted to."

Jon looked at Davos, incredulous. "You too Davos?"

"I do not understand what all is going on between you two, but your feelings are not entirely familial, and your are acting as broody as a hen, and while Lady Mormont and Lady Brienne have abused you, and---"

"What are you implying?" Growled Jon.

"I'm a father I know what---you're not siblings, and after everything the two of you have suffered, if you could be happy---that is---your father would want you to find whatever happiness you can."

Jon glowered at him. "I didn't think you even liked Sansa."

"I thought she was cold, but she thaws with her family. And I cannot deny what she has done for you and endured for the North. It would not be overstating to say I admire her. It would also not be overstating it to say she has a deep attachment to you."

Davos scratched at his beard as if he was as uncomfortable as Jon, but he persisted. "You would make her happy, and that girl hasn't known happiness--she hasn't been without fear in--you'd be saving her Jon."

Jon nodded, but instead of looking for Sansa, went to find Tormund to drink some more. However, Tormund wasn't drinking, and he looked a little abnormal, his beard shorn close to his face, wearing a tunic instead of his furs. Overall, he looked rather...neat. Jon could have sworn the man had the vague scent of soap on him.

"What's happened to you?" Jon asked, finally too curious to ignore it, but Tormund was rather quiet that evening, and simply muttered "women" with a dazed expression in his face.

\-----

Jon was thrilled Arya was home, initially. Before she became a torment, he genuinely enjoyed it. That enjoyment lasted about the length of time it took them to greet each other.

She then took to following him around, pointing to Ladies and loudly saying, "That one?" The first time he tried to laugh, slightly unnerved by it, but when she continued the entire day and into the next, he began to feel like a chicken that was being plucked live.

In the middle of sparring she ducked, grabbed his wrist, then shifted her eyes to a group of women admirers, "Oy! You, with the blonde hair, are you married?" Jon jerked his arm loose to leave, but Arya was quicker then him and tripped him, standing over him she feigned reasonableness. "She's unwed, Jon. Most men like blonde hair, don't they?"

He instantly became a sullen boy again, unwilling to respond to her. Arya helped him up and began to chat of her travels as they went inside. Unfortunately for Jon, they passed several more women, all met with running commentary from Arya.

"She's not too tall, most men like women shorter than them, don't they? Nope, you wouldn't want someone tall."

"Oh, she's young, pick a young wife Jon, not someone with firm ideals and ideas of their own. You want a woman who will listen to _you_. You don't want to get caught heeding your wife's advice."

"No, I take it back, perhaps an older woman would be best. She probably wouldn't sew and mend for you. That's so annoying how Sansa is always clothing us. A nice old woman wouldn't bother. She couldn't. Arthritis, you know."

Jon reached his room and safety, closing the door in Arya's face before she could follow him. She propped her leg against it, and picked her fingernails with her dagger as she continued, "What of a Mormont? Some women are slender, soft skin n all, but personally, I always thought you might prefer a furry woman with some substance to her. Lyanna has a cousin she'd happily be rid of."

Arya listened to Jon muttering to himself on the other side of the door. _Huh, I thought that would have gotten more of a response._

"Sleeping in the same bed as Sansa is like sleeping with an eel. Just cool, smooth skin."

Arya expected the door to be flung open and for Jon to rage at her, but the door remained closed. She did have the satisfaction of hearing several crashes, and wasn't sure if he was breaking things, or if he had accidentally fallen and broken himself. She was content with either so she happily shouted, "I thought a larger woman with lots of body hair might make you feel more comfortable. It would be like sleeping with Ghost." And then she ran, thinking she actually didn't need to hear his response.

\---

Jon stayed in his room the rest of the day, trying to collect himself enough to face everyone, but when he emerged the next morning, bathed, shaved, and wearing clean clothes to alert the meddlers that he was in perfect control of his faculties, and did not need their help, _thank you_ , he found everyone, strangely normal. He passed Brienne and Tormund in the corridor, they merely nodded. Well, Brienne nodded, and Tormund waggled his eyebrows. Lyanna was eating with Davis and they acknowledged him before returning to their quiet conversation, he only realized something was wrong when he sat down and Sansa was not in her seat. _I will not ask_ , he told himself, but he had to bite his tongue because the question kept wanting to come out.

He meandered the halls, found himself at her room, was not at all upset that she wasn't there. He needed something from the kitchen anyway, which is why he found himself talking to the cook and glancing around looking for _something_. He also needed to check on his horse which is why he searched the stables. He forgot which stall was his horse's, that's why he had to search the place. He wasn't looking for Sansa there. He _wasn't_. He had sworn he wasn't going to ask anyone, but it had been an hour and Sansa was _always_ there to break fast with him.

Davos found him on the way back from the glass gardens to the Keep, and Jon kept his calm. He asked where Arya was, thinking the indirect method was the best.

"Arya took Sansa out for the day."

"Without Brienne? Where did they go? When did they leave?"

"Do you think that Sansa needs better protection than Arya?"

"No! I--"

"You are to stay here. If Sansa wants to go, let her go." Davos was speaking of a day spent riding or hunting or doing whatever it is that Arya had convinced Sansa to do, but Jon was stricken at the thought. One day, he could wake up, and it would be the last day Sansa was home.

The rest of the day he was gloomy, he tried to ignore the looks everyone gave him, and as they were trying to ignore him in case his melancholy was catching, he generally succeeded.

Strangely, even without nagging, even without the voice of others telling him what he must do, he was assaulted over and over in every situation with one idea, _marry Sansa_. He couldn't sit and drink in peace, he couldn't spar in peace, he couldn't eat in peace, he couldn't respond to ravens in peace, something was always chanting in his head _marry Sansa, marry Sansa, marry Sansa._

And to be honest, no one had needed to say that to him in the first place. He had been telling himself that ever since the war, ever since, well, he had been trying to silence that thought for some time. Alone, under the heart tree, he heard it rustle through the leaves, _marry Sansa_. On a solitary ride through the countryside which was _not_ a half-hearted attempt to find the girls, he felt it in the wind, _marry Sansa_.

They finally returned, Sansa and Arya, and cheerfully greeted him as if they hadn't been deliberately torturing him the entire day, but Jon couldn't be broody, not when Sansa had flushed cheeks and bright eyes and was laughing over something Arya was saying.

Sansa was happy, and that made him happy, and he wanted to make her happy every day, and, and, _seven hells_! He wished the girls good rest and Sansa touched his hand, "I missed sitting with you by the fire today, Jon." He stammered his agreement and promised to find a new book to read to her while she sewed on the morrow, and then he floated to his room only to dream the chant he'd tried to push out of his head all day, _marry Sansa, marry Sansa, marry Sansa_. It didn't matter if everyone stayed silent on the subject or not. He couldn't stay silent himself.

His mood swings were out of control the next morning. He was so happy that Sansa was back, so touched that she had missed him, still annoyed with Arya, angry with Tormund's raised eyebrows and smirks. He wanted to smile and couldn't because he remembered the insults and then felt like brooding over the charges laid before him, but couldn't because he'd see Sansa smiling at him. All in all, his face was a strange ever altering painting of bliss and duress. He tried to hold himself on a tight leash, but it was fraying and each hour that went by he felt slightly more hysterical. His last meeting with the bannermen before they returned to their keeps was that afternoon and most would leave the next day. He would finally be at peace again.

\----

However, before he could open his mouth to begin the meeting, Arya stood up to speak which she really shouldn't have done, but she hadn't been acting as she _should_ for quite some time so he allowed it, although he did slink further down in his chair.

"Lyanna has informed me of her reasons for needing the marriage issue taken care of sooner rather than later, and I agree. Since Sansa is not interested in any of the Lords who have offered, I have taken it upon myself to make a list of suggestions of a more exotic and attractive nature."

Jon snapped upright so abruptly he was surprised he didn't break the back of his chair. "You what?!"

"Yes, occasionally on my journeys I interact with nobles, and I took the liberty of noting which seemed tempted by the mention of my dear sister's hand."

Sansa gasped.

The room fell unusually still, no Lord or Lady spoke, no clothing rustled, no one coughed out of discomfort. Every eye turned to Jon, not knowing what they were waiting for, but knowing they were waiting for _something_.

Perhaps it was all of Tormund's innuendos, perhaps it was the cold shoulder from Brienne, perhaps it was the lectures from Lady Mormont, perhaps it was Davos keeping his silence while very clearly expressing his feelings, perhaps it was the endless suggestions pouring out of Arya, perhaps it was love, raging unexpressed in Jon for so long, just looking for an opportunity to be spoken, perhaps it was everything all together, but as soon as Arya made the mistake of smirking at him, Jon was standing and shouting somewhat incoherently, " _I_ love her, _I_ am going to marry her, we are going to have _eleven_ children, and none of you will say another word about it!"

It had just registered in Jon's mind what he had said, and how he had said it when Sansa's hand tugged on his arm, and she very gently, quietly said, "Jon, sit down, there's no need to yell about it." She looked at everyone in the room with a raised eyebrow, "I appreciate your concern for me, but in the future, perhaps we can speak as rational people rather than driving our King to distraction?"

Davos was shamefaced and bowed deeply "Congratulations, your grace" he said before hearding the Lords out of the room and quickly leaving himself. Brienne was totally unrepentant, and simply leveled a cool, but not frigid look upon Jon before she departed. Tormund was on her heels, laughing, for he had enjoyed himself immensely.

Arya and Lyanna were the only two left in the room. "Gods, that took long enough."

Jon blinked, even more confused than he was previously, if it were possible.

"You're so obvious _and_ oblivious and--"

"Awkward" added Lyanna.

"Definitely that!" The girls laughed in unison, pleased with themselves and enjoying the King's embarrassment.

Sansa stood beside Jon since she had not been able to get him to sit down next to her, and slipped her arm through his. "That was most entertaining ladies. Now I think we should--"

"Kiss." Supplied Lyanna Mormont. "Now, you should definitely kiss." Both Sansa and Jon stupidity stared at her. Jon sputtered out something along the lines of "Not the boss of me" and "Won't take orders from a little girl" and Sansa was saying something about having one obnoxious little sister was quite enough, but the little warriors ignored all that.

"I wonder if you would have kept on just looking at her without saying anything" laughed Arya.

"I was worried I would have to physically fight him at some point" griped Lyanna.

"You would have beaten him too, if you had Sansa nearby to distract him."

Jon turned to Sansa and kissed her. He wasn't kissing Sansa because he was discomfited by Lyanna's morbid curiosity in what Arya called her "game of faces." He really wasn't. He was absolutely _not_ kissing Sansa because he was afraid of a little girl. He _wasn't_.

He felt victorious and smug and turned to the girls to enjoy ending their game. Then it occurred to him that his manner of announcing his intention to marry Sansa was hardly ideal, and then kissing her without her consent to the engagement or permission for him to manhandle her was possibly even less welcome.

He stopped himself from gloating and had just prepared to ask for some privacy so he could apologize when Sansa's soft hand was on his cheek, directing him to look at her, and then she was kissing him, and he may or may not have quickly been lost in the kiss and forgotten the presence of his tormentors. Fine, _fine_ , he did. He forgot everything but Sansa. Her hands moved to his hair and his arms were around her, pulling her closer until she was standing on his toes, and then they were laughing, and she was pushing away, all blushes and smiles.

The two girls who had witnessed the display felt it necessary to give their verdicts of "Completely unnecessary" and "utterly appalling" and "I never asked to see _that_ " and "so _now_ you aren't shy?" Jon did not hear these offerings or anything else through the haze that surrounded him. If you had been able to get his attention and asked where he was, he would have said he was floating in a pink cloud that smelled of lemon cakes. He and Sansa were leaving the room, not knowing where they were going, just knowing they were going together. They stopped when Sansa motioned to Tormund and Brienne ahead of them in the hall.

"Tormund, I said you may walk with me, if you touch me again, I'll chop your arm off." Brienne was speaking gently as she made the threat, and it was almost endearing when Tormund blushed. He motioned in Sansa and Jon's direction, "Brienne! Not in front of the children."

Jon thought he was hallucinating when Beienne tweaked Tormund's nose before walking away with him.

"What was that?" asked Jon.

"Tormund began to court Brienne while you were away."

"But they fight all the time. Brienne thinks he's disgusting!"

"Oh, Jon" Sansa sighed and tucked a curl behind his ear, "You're lucky you're so pretty."

"I _am_ lucky" Jon agreed, kissing Sansa's forehead and then her cheek, dazed at the thought that his stupidity led him to this point, vowing to remain that stupid for the rest of his life.

"Yes, you are" she laughed, her arms reaching out and hands clasping at the back of his neck. "And about those eleven children..."

Jon's lips hovered near her own, "I'll compromise with you at ten."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
